Header Widget Wrapper

Meta

Broken Field Running

10/29/11Gurgaon

Arrived in a fever dreamWhere every village in the countryAppeared to be shooting fireworksOr attempting to bring our aircraft down

This festival, all light, explosive and tranquilDripping strings of color below, flower bursts aboveA place where the air is already rich with scents and atmosphereNow a country in a pyro haze perfumed with incense and gunpowder

The night hides most of the squalor as does the neighborhoodWestern logos and guarded gates that keep the poor outUnless they enter from the back in uniform to serveTourist bindi punctuation a rubber stamp for out of towners

There is always the workThis attempt to build a city for the dayWith a consistency of detail that verges on maniaAdapting space and time to fit us

Where we have been, what we have driven throughWith both acceptance and denialIs who we are, what we doIt’s part of the reason why we do it like we do

We take the challenge and walk throughWe boil with frustration and sigh with apathetic resignation sometimesBecause there are those who depend on usTo allow them to create and perform

Like a broken play on a marked fieldYou can see the defense fall apart before it doesSlow motion car crash sickness in the pit of your bellyWe near miss drivers have steered clear so many times

ImpactSome see the the game unfolding and pull the cordDisbelief replaced by some deeper programFight or flightSome shitty field becomes the Alamo

Survivors we are, broken in ways you’ll never seeThe show must go on, onward, outbound, endlessThe sun rises twice and we squintGallows humor at it’s best

We wanted more, to make it work, againAnd we willBut you can’t fist fight an oceanAnd running away never hurt so muchBecause it might have been the right thing to doAnd that always hurts more than what we know.